


Patient

by elsa



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Age Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8799823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsa/pseuds/elsa
Summary: Jem said that Paul Irving was certainly the nicest houseguest they had had in a while.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fisichella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fisichella/gifts).



Jem said that Paul Irving was certainly the nicest houseguest they had had in a while. Paul had won the poet in residence position at the university for a semester, and Mother charmed him into coming to stay a few weeks before he was due to move in to faculty housing. She was trying to immortalize Ingleside in the next book of great American poetry, Father teased.

Paul was constantly asked out to dinner, and took long walks and hikes with the locals, who were delighted to have a famed American poet in their midst. On the weekends, he played football with Jem and charmed Susan and Mother in equal degree. 

The first day he was here, Susan had been off in the kitchen and perhaps had not heard the bell; the door had been open. Walter was inside, testing a series of new paints for a sketch, in disarray. He turned and Paul was in the open doorway.

He knew intellectually only that it must be Paul; he hadn't seen him for six years. The young boyish adult of his distant childhood memories was gone. The light framed the silhouette; this stranger looked hard, elegant, stilled at the threshold like a vision; and then he smiled at Walter.

"Paul. I'll -- welcome to Ingleside, come in." Walter said, "I'll tell Mother, she's in the next room," and fled. 

The next day he overheard Paul saying, "I think I frightened Walter when I came upon him so suddenly on my arrival; he dashed out of the room rather quickly." 

Father said, "Walter can be shy sometimes. He's a very imaginative child." 

"He's not a child, Gilbert, he's going to Redmond next year," Mother said lightly, "-- he'll be around, Paul, I'm sure. Tell us, is it true about your name in the running for poet laureate next year?" 

"Oh, just speculation, really..."

A day or two later, Walter was walking around the woods beside Ingleside. Paul was lying next to the path on the green grass, a notebook in hand. His chestnut hair was turning a ruddy gold in the filtered sunlight through the branches, and the trees as if in reflection were becoming vibrantly colored. Walter, who had always loved beautiful things, had to take a moment to remember where he was.

"Hello, Walter," Paul said, smiling politely. 

"Hello, Paul. I hope I didn't interrupt you at anything. I was going to walk along the trail." 

"Oh, I was just daydreaming. I'll walk with you." 

Paul fell into step beside him, chatting easily: about the people he was meeting in town, the local bookstores he'd gone to, the views from the hills. He had been at the school to talk about poetry and had met Walter's old teacher Miss Oliver, who had spoke to him once she knew he was staying with the Blythes. 

"She's very fond of you all. She says you're quite interested in poetry." 

"I dabble a bit," Walter said, blushing to the roots of his hair. "What exactly did she say?"

"She said you were very young and had a wonderful gift." 

Walter couldn't speak from embarrassment and the shock of realizing that there was a distinct possibility Miss Oliver had actually shown Paul some of his poems, had said 'these sonnets are remarkable for a young lad of his age--'. His mind froze, and he said the first, absurdly stupid thing that came to his mind, which was: "I'm turning twenty next year." 

"Yes. Anne tells me you're going up to the university?" 

"Next year. I'm going to be studying English at Redmond." Walter found himself tongue tied. He had had a schoolboy crush on Paul for a very long time; it was a bit awe inspiring to be close to him. Paul ruffled his hair affectionately.

"You've gotten so tall," he said. "Well, tell me about it." 

They walked around the grounds, talking; at one point Walter looked up and saw Rilla at one of the windows, peeking out at them, smiling. Now he could look at Paul directly -- they were the same height -- no, Walter was a bit taller now. Paul glanced up at him. He had nice eyes, thought Walter. He hoped he wasn't blushing. 

.

A few evenings later, Walter opened the door to look for a missing book, and Jem and Faith, who were very standing very close together in the parlor, both jumped and moved apart. Jem used to walk Faith home every day home from church, and she was at the house more and more often. Walter weakly apologized and made his escape, and he later saw Jem and Faith talking again; he was walking her home.

It's spring, he thought. Love was around. Mother kept dropping hints about Una to Walter, cheerfully. Father was mellow and relaxed. Perhaps Paul was part of it too; Walter kept running into him curled up on Mother's floor rug, or chatting easily with Jem outside in the bright sunlight. 

"It's been so nice having Paul here these last few weeks," Father said that evening at dinner, when Paul was away dining with a local literary club. "I suppose he's quite free and ambitious in his career. It's odd that he had never married." 

"Oh, he's too pure-hearted, too good for people. And he's focused on his art," Mother said. "Like Milton. I was convinced he was a genius when I first met Paul." 

"You saw it first, I'm sure," Father said and they exchanged chummy, affectionate looks. Rilla kicked Walter under the table. They were really too much sometimes. 

After dinner, he and Rilla were both in their usual haunts upstairs, she reading a novel, Walter half heartedly marking at some papers. 

"Last week you took a walk with Paul that lasted HOURS," Rilla said, peeking out from her novel at Walter after several minutes. "What do you talk about so intensely?" 

"Oh. Life and poetry and everything, mostly -- I hardly know." 

"I know what you're up to," Rilla said crossly. 

"oh. Do you?" 

"Yes, he's a famous poet, you'd like to be a famous poet, it's clear why you're monopolizing him." She stretched. 

Walter thought about Paul not writing as much as he should; his occasional solitary walks, his quietness. "I hope it's not a distraction from his work, being here." 

"Of course not. He likes you, haven't you noticed?"

"I-- haven't..."

"You both get that dreamy look when you're talking about poetry -- THAT one -- it's irresistible. I'd help you too if I could."

"That's sweet, Rilla." 

"And he's probably a bit like everyone else, really.."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Walter," she said, "surely you know you're indeed probably the best looking of all of us--"

\-- Walter went bright red --

"Especially that bit you do with your eyelashes where -- oh! He probably thinks you're exactly how a young man ought to look." 

"I," Walter said slowly, "have never --" he thought, Jem was exactly how a young man ought to look. Rilla was smiling at him, fondly. 

.

Rilla was still the silliest girl alive, but in a lovable way. She came to see Walter as he was getting out of classes, begging him to deliver a letter for her -- she had to dash back to a church society for a knitting social, quite indispensable. Walter agreed, trying to hide his amusement: Rilla was a dear. He came by the post office, finished the errand, and as he was walking back he cut through the fashionable part of town, and remembered that Paul had mentioned he would be attending a lecture at the Philolexical Society. It was quite a bit after the club meeting would would have ended, but perhaps I'll run into Paul here, he thought. Mother had mentioned that he was friends with some of the members when he had been in college. He was thinking this as he passed by the thick gates twined with roses at their house, when he heard Paul's light, conversational voice. 

He couldn't, afterwards, remember what had been said. It was dusk turning into evening; there was no one around. 

Walter paused and looked past the gate, where the rosebushes had obscured the vision. He saw Paul, and a good looking man he didn't recognize -- taller than Paul, and dark-haired, together, standing very still. They seemed so tense, almost as if they were in a fight. After one very long second, Walter saw very distinctly that he had embraced Paul, and kissed him. 

Walter felt frozen in place. No one else would have seen. Eventually he moved away, staying, in his own mind, silent. His body was numb all over and then it started tingling, as if from a rush of blood. After one block, he started running. 

Paul hadn't moved away. He'd kissed that man back. 

.

It's wrong, it's awful, he thought at home, don't think of it. He had found someone's sordid dirty secret but -- no, that wasn't it. Walter kept replaying the scene in his mind, and it stopped being a whispered scene, murmurings that he hadn't guessed at, he had never seen it in books or literature or film or photograph but it was a reminder of what he must have always known about himself.

He walked around and around, and he thought he must have been stupid, awful, the blindest fool alive. When he finally got home, Susan fussed over him. 

"You've been walking out in all sorts of weather; you'll catch your death of cold," she said, pulling briskly at his jacket. 

"I'm a bit tired. I think I'll just be upstairs for a while." 

In his room, he lay on the bed, pressed up against the wall as if he could touch Paul through space and time, his room on the second floor facing east, perfect for dreamers. He thought: it should have been me.

It should have been me. 

At dinner, Mother said, "Susan, we don't need an extra plate. Paul sent a note saying he's dining at the club tonight. He's meeting an old college friend..."

"We--ell, how very nice for him. Do you know when he will be back?" 

"He didn't say. I do hope the weather holds up." 

Walter lay awake, listening to the rain, which started to pound hard over the next few hours. He kept listening for Paul anyway -- a turn of the key, the sound of his pleasant light step on the porch. 

He stayed awake for a long time. 

In the late morning, Mother was diligently clipping roses in the garden, and Walter was helping. He heard the sound of the back gate opening.

"Hello Paul, did you have a nice evening with your friend?" 

"Yes, We talked after dinner and lost track of the time." Paul's voice sounded very normal and social.

"Oh, well, as long as you were able to get back this morning. I think we can find a bit of breakfast still in the kitchen," said Mother cheerfully. "Walter, do you want to show Paul where the things are in the pantry?"

"I'm sure I can manage," Paul said. 

"No, it's fine, I'll go with you," Walter said. Their shoulders checked each other in the narrow space behind the hedge. Walter's back hit the edge of the fence. Paul stiffened and stepped back rapidly. Walter let him pass and followed slowly, thinking, and wondering. 

.

The problem was, once he started thinking about it he couldn't STOP thinking about it. 

Walter remembered a lifetime of being called sissy girl, of having Jem defend him with fights in school, of life and how well you got along defined by how many punches you could throw or girls you can walk home instead of the books you read, the impossible provincial nature of the country that he thought he could only escape through fantasy. Until now. 

He couldn't bring himself to say anything to Paul, though, as if it were going to make real the feeling that was fighting in him. 

"Walter, are you alright? You don't seem yourself lately," Paul said, approaching him. Walter was lying in the grass in an alcove behind the hills. 

"I've had a lot on my mind." 

"Oh. I know the feeling." 

"I don't know if I'll manage in college -- to become a poet or a professor." He said, "Have you always known that was what you were?"

"I daydreamed all the time as a child. I was full of stories and imagery. Some days I felt like I had to write, that I must."

Walter had an image of a younger Paul, with the same subtle imaginative mind, but perhaps more innocent. He realized that Paul was looking in the pool of water in the backyard now. In the silence, Paul had begun looking at Walter in the reflection of the water, and it was the same type of look of admiration that Walter would get, on the tail-end, subtly, from girls at school, from teachers he'd get along with, the girl friends that Jem brought home, whispering, "that's Jem Blythe's younger brother. He's rather quiet. SO good-looking, though." Walter would have run away from them. 

Walter immediately looked up and caught Paul's eye. Their gaze was brief: both of them looked away rapidly. Walter thought, I don't think I would have ever caught Paul doing something like that. 

Walter had to say something. 

"I feel the same," said Walter. "I mean I feel the same way." 

There was a long silence. 

"You've got leaves on your shoulder," said Walter. Paul sat up and let Walter move in on him, brush at his jacket. His eyes were very blue, Walter thought. He smelled nice. 

"There." 

"Thank you." Paul's voice sounded perfectly fine. Walter lifted his eyes and saw the pulse in his neck beating rapidly. He wouldn't have known. He couldn't do anything about it, it was impossible; he kept it with him, though: a secret.

.

Life went on, of course. Time went on, and soon the few weeks were up and Paul was packing to go to his university. Late that night, Walter opened the window and climbed out onto the roof. 

He heard a thump, and Paul walked out onto the balcony. 

"I came out here to rest a bit," he said apologetically. "I think I've got some of the furniture stuck while unpacking my things." 

"Oh, that old dresser. I'll help you loosen it." Walter hopped onto the balcony and headed inside into Paul's neat bedroom and study. 

"That reminds me, Walter," said Paul, once they had arranged all the things in the right spot again. "I have a gift for you, a thank you for being such good company these past few weeks." 

"A book of modern poetry." It felt heavy, expensive, weighty in his hand. "Thank you. I'll love it I'm sure." Their eyes caught and Paul looked away. 

"You've helped me a lot too," Walter found himself saying. A long pause. "I was afraid you were surprised when you saw me." 

"When was that?"

"When you came in the first day. You were in the entryway."

"You see, I hadn't visited Ingleside in a while, and you'd grown up."

"Yes." 

After a moment he said, "You know I'll miss you being here a lot. I just feel like I can tell you anything. I couldn't even say to Mother, or Jem, or Rilla. It's different with them."

"You're very sweet. You know, I can't think of anyone I'd rather see go on than you."

"Really? That's a nice thing to say." He touched his hand. Paul was looking up at him in quiet subtle admiration. Perhaps Rilla had really tought Walter a thing or two; his heart stuttered in recognition. After a moment, he leaned over and kissed him. 

Paul gasped but didn't move away. His wavy hair felt very soft brushing against Paul's cheek, the fabric of his shirt very crisp. His hand knocked over some papers and then he drew back, but Walter went with him. Their thighs were pressed together; he had one arm on his bicep. Paul's other arm was on the desk, brushing and then curling around his waist, either to pull him closer or push him away, Walter wasn't sure. 

"Walter," Paul said. Walter kissed the edge of his mouth and wrapped his arm around his neck, pressing them together, the drag from chest and shoulder. Paul gasped a deep shocked breath and pulled away. 

"Sorry," Walter said quickly. But Paul didn't look angry. In fact he was looking at him in wonderment, as if it was dazzling him. Still he stepped back. Walter looked down. 

He moved away deliberately and walked over to the window. Outside it was starry and bright and with the lights out the expanse looked infinite. His heart was racing with the thud and speed of something urgent and relentless. He closed his eyes and it felt like all his desires were complicated, tangled up in him, impossible. 

His heart was pounding. He looked up again and when he spoke his voice was light and easy.

"You've got an early day tomorrow to go to the train station, and you probably need to prepare for term," he said. 

"Yes, I expect you're right." Paul backed away and knocked over a pen; it clattered to the floor.

Walter said, "I'll get that."

"I..."

They were very close to each other now, they both looked away at once. 

Walter was feeling distressed, it was beginning to eat up at him, something he had never, could never really escape. He wanted to kiss Paul again. He wanted this moment to never end. 

"Walter," Paul said, watching him very closely. Walter looked up. 

"Don't worry, there's nothing to be distressed about." He stroked his hair. 

They heard a clatter of footsteps in the hallway, Susan scolding Rilla. Paul let go of him.

After a long moment he said, "There's no need to rush, Walter. Wait until it's right."

"You didn't wait."

"I knew what I wanted to say, I'd been preparing for it all my life. But Walter, you're so new and fresh to it all, you're just starting." He sat down next to Walter. "Don't hurry. You've got so much talent. You've got all the time in the world." 

"Don't I?" Walter said. He lifted his eyes to gaze at Paul, who looked back at him through his lashes, careful, prudent, waiting. 


End file.
